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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176248">no time to rest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Fizzles/pseuds/Mr_Fizzles'>Mr_Fizzles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>simplicity is overrated [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>End Avatar Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Gen, No beta we die like tim stoker, POV Alternating, Post-The Unknowing (The Magnus Archives), Rated T for TIM, tags will be updated as I go, warning: Lonely Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:47:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Fizzles/pseuds/Mr_Fizzles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>-<br/>Then he had gone and died and left the rest of them to deal with the shitstorm their life had become. There would be new horrors coming for them he knew. He knew. They would be in danger.</p><p>But there was nothing he could do about that. </p><p>He, Tim Stoker, was dead and gone and floating in a muted-grey-pain-nothing. </p><p>They were out of reach and there was nothing he could do about it.</p><p>Y'know what? No.<br/>-</p><p>A sequel to It used to be so simple.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Sims &amp; Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood &amp; Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>simplicity is overrated [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Grey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>     Colour. Burning. Pain. Nothing</em>. Then he opened his eyes. He couldn’t have actually opened his eyes of course, because he didn’t have any, and he couldn’t have seen anything if he had because there was nothing to see. An endless span of nothingness in which he did not have eyes because he didn’t have a form because he was no one, in nothing, in no when.</p><p> </p><p>     But if he was pressed to describe the nothing that he couldn’t see, he probably would have called it grey. Indefinite, vague grey that should have been a comfort after the swirling pulsating nauseating colour of before.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Before?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>     It didn’t matter.</p><p> </p><p>     Anyways, the not-grey-but-might-as-well-have-been should have been comforting. It would have been if it weren’t for the unending excruciating <em>pain</em> covering the entirety of his non-existent formless self.</p><p> </p><p>     If he didn’t exist why did he hurt so much? No fair. No fair at all. Frankly he was a bit pissed. This was not the afterlife he signed up for.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Afterlife?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>     Right. He was dead<em>. </em>Died in a big old fiery explosion, the whole works. That would explain the whole all consuming pain bit.</p><p> </p><p>     So, he was dead, this is the afterlife. And he must’ve been alive at some point, that would be the before. Before the not-grey-nothing, before the fiery explosion and ensuing pain. <em>The pain that he now had to concentrate to focus through.</em></p><p> </p><p>     If he hadn’t always been no one, he must have been a person, with a name, and a life<em>. And a reason for ending it the way he had</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Danny.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>     A name, not his though. No, Danny was his reason. The reason he pushed the button on that detonator and took the whole goddamn circus with him. <em>The circus, the bastards that took Danny, his brother, from him.</em> He died to destroy them, to stop them from destroying the entire world <em>like they had destroyed his life.</em> To stop the <em>swirling-bright-awful-colour-unreality</em> of the Unknowing.</p><p> </p><p>     So, when he pushed that button, he took himself out as well as the entire circus. But what about the others? The others, because his friends had been there too. <em>Friends might be a stretch at this point.</em> His coworkers then, Daisy, Basira, Jon. Were they dead too? Somewhere in this not-greyness? <em>No. </em>They weren’t, he was certain of it. He was the only one.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     How was he so sure?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>     Never mind that for now.</p><p> </p><p>     All this thinking was starting to get uncomfortable. The more he thought and remembered, the more intense the pain got. It was starting to have more definition now. <em>As if remembering was making him realer somehow.</em> He was still just a nobody in the nothing though, so he wasn’t sure how much it mattered.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     My name is Tim.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>     Yes. His name was Tim. He used to work at the Magnus Institute with Jon and Martin and Sasha. <em>Oh god Sasha. </em>He had died to save the world and kill the monsters that had killed his brother. He focused harder as the pain built up. He had been prepared to die to get his revenge, he had been so focused on going out in a blaze of glory that he hadn’t even stopped to consider what he still had. Now he was here in the nothing, with nobody and he would never see any of them again.</p><p> </p><p>     Looking back on his last few months with the clarity that the nothingness gave him, he reflected on what he had left behind. <em>He could never apologize to Martin now</em>. At the time he had thought it would be easier to go if he didn’t have anyone holding him back, but Martin wouldn’t let go so he had pushed him away. <em>Martin didn’t deserve that</em>. And Jon, he knew that his last words would probably haunt him forever, <em>that’s why he had said them</em>. But in those few seconds of clarity before the end he had seen Jon’s face, really actually <em>seen</em> his former friend for the first time in ages and he had seen exactly how much raw hurt his words had caused.</p><p> </p><p>     And then he had gone and died and left the rest of them to deal with the shitstorm their life had become. There would be new horrors coming for them he knew. <em>He knew</em>. They would be in danger.</p><p> </p><p>     But there was nothing he could do about that.</p><p> </p><p>     He, Tim Stoker, was dead and gone and floating in a muted-grey-pain-nothing.</p><p> </p><p>     They were out of reach and there was nothing he could do about it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     No.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>     The nothingness seemed to flicker around him, holding him tighter as the pain built to a crescendo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Fuck. This.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>     Outside of the nothing, finally real and somehow whole, Tim Stoker opened his eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me? Writing a fix-it to my own fanfiction because I managed to hurt my own feelings with the ending? It's more likely than you think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Resurrection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>      Marie paused in front of the nondescript building, it was rather plain and had a small placard next to the door that simply said: <em>The Magnus Institute</em>. When Anna had her breakdown a few years back, she mentioned that she had come here, that they said they would help her, and she had certainly seemed more settled afterwards. Marie had also checked online for reviews that had all told her much the same, that they would listen to anything no matter how strange or unbelievable the story. From the sheer normalcy of this building’s appearance she might have thought she had the wrong address, but the place had this awful air around it. For a moment she had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her from an upper window, but when she craned her neck, they all appeared empty. She straightened her shoulders and clutched her purse tighter remembering her sons face of concern when she mentioned her experience, the conversation she overheard about her mind going. All she needed was for someone to listen, to believe her. And if this place was where she needed to go, so be it. She opened the door and was greeted by a cheery receptionist who gave her directions down a series of twisting corners and staircases and instructed her to tell the people there that she wished to give a statement.</p><p> </p><p>     As she passed through a doorframe labelled <em>Archives,</em> she nearly ran into a young man holding a stack of files. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”</p><p> </p><p>     “No, I don’t suppose you would have,” the man frowned slightly, then sighed when she just stared blankly. “This isn’t a public area ma’am, if you’re looking for the library you’ll have to go back upstairs.”</p><p> </p><p>     “Oh, no. I’m not looking for the library. I was, well, your receptionist said that I should come down here and let you know that I wished to make a statement.” The man suddenly looked exhausted and sighed again.</p><p> </p><p>     “Of course, it would have to be when they’re both busy,” he muttered, ignoring her confused expression as he turned around and waved for her to follow, walking further into the archives.</p><p> </p><p>     “My name is Marie, by the way, Marie Roberts.” She interjected, attempting to break the odd silence and bring them back to familiar ground.</p><p> </p><p>     “Martin Blackwood,” he replied, without turning or slowing. She huffed a bit at his back, the lack of manners in young people these days never ceased to surprise her.</p><p> </p><p>     They finally stopped at a desk, he pulled out a chair for her and moved behind the desk, taking a seat himself. There was a tape recorder sitting in the middle of the desk and she gestured towards it, “So do you record all statements with those then?”</p><p> </p><p>     He startled slightly, staring at the recorder as if it was an unexpected presence, “Not all of them but I suppose we could record yours if you don’t mind,” he didn’t look away from the device as he spoke.</p><p> </p><p>     She nodded and he pressed record. “Statement of Marie Roberts, regarding…?” he looked at her expectantly.</p><p> </p><p>     “Oh, right. Regarding… a man who should be dead, I suppose.” Marie said quietly.</p><p> </p><p>     “Alright. Statement of Marie Roberts, regarding a man who should be dead. Statement begins,” He gestured for her to go ahead.</p><p> </p><p>      Marie felt an odd wave of calm come over her as he spoke. When he gestured, she began to tell her story calmly, not starting with what had sent her here as she intended, but rather describing a series of events in her youth, ones that she had almost forgotten. The time her parents had told her that her cat Princess had died only for it to come back the next day. The day she saw a man at the bus stop who would have been unremarkable if it weren’t for his reflection in the puddle on the pavement which showed nothing but bones. Eventually she came to the events of the past week, the unease she had felt passing the graveyard on the way to her bridge club. Her refusal to accept a ride home from Thomas. And then what she had seen in the growing dark on her way back past that graveyard.</p><p> </p><p>      “I heard this scraping noise coming from the grounds. I thought it must have been one of those boys from the street over, they’ve been getting bolder with their vandalism of late. And my Jerry was laid to rest in there, so I wasn’t about to leave them to it. But as I walked towards the noise, I couldn’t see anyone. The place was entirely empty, but the scraping and thumping was still going on, right beside me. Or rather, right below me.” She paused, remembering the utter terror that had gripped her at the realization. She continued, recounting how she had backed away but seemed unable to turn and leave as the ground above one of the graves was disturbed from below and muffled yells joined the sounds of someone slowly, torturously, digging their way out of their own grave.</p><p> </p><p>     “And then the man pulled himself up, out of the dirt. And he looked right at me. I remember thinking that he didn’t look dead really. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d watched him crawl out of a grave myself I’d have never believed it. He was entirely normal looking, except for his eyes. They looked old, older than the face they inhabited. And when he looked at me, I felt as though he could see right through to my soul.” She shuddered at the remembered sensation and finished her tale, ending in how she had turned and run as the dead man opened his mouth, moving faster than she had in years to escape. When she stopped speaking the odd feeling left and she was once again simply sitting in an uncomfortable chair in the basement of the Magnus Institute, across from a young man who had been growing paler and paler since she had mentioned the name of the graveyard.</p><p> </p><p>     “Statement ends,” He said softly, and pressed the end recording button. “Thank you ma’am, we’ll be looking into this. You can leave contact information with Rosie at the front desk if you’d like us to follow up with you.” He seemed to be running through a script without really hearing what he was saying.</p><p> </p><p>     “Yes, I will. I’m not sure I remember the way back honestly, if you wouldn’t mind showing me out?” She could still feel the dead man’s eyes on her, and she didn’t feel confident navigating the twists and turns of this place alone.</p><p> </p><p>     “Of course,” He sighed and started leading her through the halls back towards the entryway, they didn’t see any other employee’s or anyone at all until they were almost to the lobby, when they came across another young man walking towards them who seemed familiar, she couldn’t quite place him until he looked up at them.</p><p> </p><p>     Both she and Martin froze. Marie moved first, running past them both, past the receptionist who called out a concerned “Mrs. Roberts?” and out of the building, cursing Anna for ever telling her about that awful place.</p><p> </p><p>     Back in the hallway there was a shocked silence. It was finally broken by the newcomer, with a sheepish mutter of “Hey Martin.”</p><p> </p><p>     “TIM?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ghost of Assistant Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Basira sighed as they walked back through the institute doors, the familiar yet still uncomfortable feeling of being watched settling in the back of her neck as per usual. Beside her, Melanie tensed and sped up her pace slightly, muttering what were undoubtedly some sort of threats or curses under her breath. They made their way down to the archives, Basira moving at a much more reluctant pace. She was <em>not</em> in a hurry to get back to that dusty basement. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to see a text from Martin. So he actually wants to be part of the team today, hm. She slipped the phone back without opening the message. She was on her way down to the archives anyway, whatever it was could wait until she got there.</p><p> </p><p>     She watched Melanie stomp around the last corner in front of her, and momentarily felt a bit bad for not warning Martin that Melanie was having one of her worse days. This momentary guilt quickly transformed into panic when she heard a shout.</p><p> </p><p>     “What the hell is this?!” Basira rounded the corner to see Melanie, knife already out, shouting at Martin as he scowled back. And there, sitting on the corner of Martin’s desk…</p><p> </p><p>     “You’d better have a good explanation for this Martin,” Basira kept her eyes on the man on the desk as she edged towards her own, already cataloguing the items on it for their usefulness as weapons.</p><p> </p><p>     “I’m assuming you didn’t read my text then,” Martin seemed completely unconcerned about the whole situation, as he spoke with the annoyingly condescending tone he almost always used these days.</p><p> </p><p>     “Hey guys if we could all chill out, I can explain-“</p><p> </p><p>     “Shut up! How fucking dare you walk in here with his face? He’s dead! You really think you’re gonna trick us with that shit again?” Melanie snarled, advancing on the desk.</p><p> </p><p>     “Melanie,” Martin stepped in front of her, blocking her path and keeping a wary eye on the knife in her hand, “It’s not a trick. Hear him out.” Melanie faltered at the glimpse of the old Martin, sincerity bleeding from his tone, and stepped back.</p><p> </p><p>     “Fine. This had better be a damn good explanation,” She moved to lean against her own desk, putting the switchblade back in her pocket without releasing her white knuckled grip on it. Martin nodded and stepped back as well, any sign of emotion completely gone from his face.</p><p> </p><p>     There was a moment of awkward silence. “Well?” Basira prodded, raising an eyebrow at the man on Martin’s desk and gesturing for him to get on with it.</p><p> </p><p>     “Right,” Tim cleared his throat, “I was actually dead, as a matter of fact. Turns out dying is a pretty shitty experience, zero out of ten would not recommend,” Tim grimaced at the stony silence that greeted his attempt at lightening the mood and quickly moved on to the rest of his tale. Describing the void and pain that had greeted him after the Unknowing. Then how he had woken up in his own grave and dug his way out. Basira shudders as he details the hours it took to get to the surface, the suffocating darkness and press of damp earth as he clawed upwards. His journey back to the Magnus Institute he spends less time on, simply saying “I walked.”</p><p> </p><p>     They begin interrogating him, asking for details about the Magnus Institute, statements they know he followed up on, personal history. All of his answers match up with their own knowledge of events, but that isn’t a guarantee that he is who he says he is. They’ve heard enough about monsters who can make you believe anything. But he seems genuine, if a bit… off. Basira can’t quite put her finger on the difference between the man she remembers and the one standing in front of her, and it makes her uneasy. Melanie finally seems convinced though, and Martin clearly has been since before she and Melanie got back. She wonders for a moment what exactly was said between the two of them alone down here in the archives that had Martin so utterly sure of Tim’s identity. They had known each other long before Basira had gotten drawn into the Institute’s problems so Martin would presumably be the best judge of the truth of Tim’s identity. That was assuming that Martin was to be completely trusted, and these days she wasn’t sure. For the moment though this would have to be evidence enough.</p><p> </p><p>     “Fine. I believe you,” Basira said, cutting short Tim’s rambling answer to her latest question. He slumped back into a chair in clear relief.</p><p> </p><p>     “Thanks, I guess. Wasn’t really sure what I was gonna do if you guys threw me out of here,” His face was open, honest, and still just ever so slightly different. Basira looked away, aiming her reply just to the left rather than at the man himself.</p><p> </p><p>     “I’m not saying that I trust you. You might be who you say you are, but that doesn’t mean you came back exactly the same,” Basira knows he didn’t “You’re staying here so I can keep an eye on you.” She moved around her desk and sat down, ignoring his inane reply. She had work to do.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>     “Martin!” Tim jogged to catch up to him. Martin had tried to slip away the moment Basira said she was convinced. There was no way Tim was letting him go that easily. They had unfinished business.</p><p> </p><p>     “What do you want Tim,” Martin asked, his voice flat and expressionless. He had stopped walking away, but he still wasn’t bothering to look at him. He hadn’t looked at him once since the initial shock wore off.</p><p> </p><p>     “We need to talk Martin-“ he held up a hand to stop whatever Martin was about to say, no doubt something derisive about already having talked given the expression on his face now. “I mean properly. This whole thing, with the void and whatever. It gave me some perspective on the way I left things…”</p><p> </p><p>     “You mean the part when you called me naïve and deluded for hoping you didn’t die? Or the part where you went and got yourself exploded without even so much as a goodbye?” Martin was finally looking at him now and his gaze was like ice. There was none of the warmth that Tim remembered. He opened his mouth and stuttered silently as Martin continued in a voice like frozen steel, “You made it very clear that you didn’t want me around then, you don’t need to pretend any differently now.” He turned and walked away, leaving Tim standing uselessly in the middle of the hallway mouth still open trying to find a way to refute the harsh words that nonetheless represented exactly what he had tried to leave behind.</p><p> </p><p>     Tim moved over to slump against a wall, slowly sliding until he was sitting with his knees curled up towards his chest. He buried his head in his hands and tried to muffle the echo of Martins words that wouldn’t stop reverberating inside his head. He deserved this. It was his own fault really. He pulled his head out of his hands and sighed heavily. He didn’t dig his way out of his own grave just to wallow in self pity. He had fucked up and gone and died, but now he was back, and he had a job to do. It wasn’t going to be pleasant and it wasn’t going to be easy, but he was going to fix this, and hopefully prevent anyone else from dying along the way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Eyy its Lonely Martin</p><p>I'm back! Sorry for the long wait. I have plotted out the rest of this story so hopefully I can get the rest of the chapters out in a more timely manner.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, hope you enjoyed reading : )</p></blockquote></div></div>
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